


Skeleton Kiss

by BatsInATeacup (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood Magic, Creature Fic, Creature Inheritance, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Magic, Dhampir Harry Potter, Half-Blood Prince AU, Knockturn Alley, M/M, Mentor Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Necromancy, Possessive Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Sane Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Sexual Content, Sporadic Updates, Vampire Harry Potter, black magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 15:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7807204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/BatsInATeacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Sirius dead and the prophecy revealed, Harry Potter decides he is done being a damsel. It's time he takes his fate in his own hands. Over the summer, Harry explores the long forbidden darkness, and finds comfort in the black magic he has long denied his affinity for. Secrets are revealed, views are changed, alliances are forged, and as school comes back, Harry must decide whether to put his trust in Voldemort's hands, or if he is just going to continue to let the light push him around like a pawn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skeleton Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: BatsInATeacup (Silas Loki James) and associates do not own Harry Potter saga or any of its characters.There is no profit gained from writing or publishing this story. All rights to Harry Potter and his world go to J. K. Rowling, Scholastic Bloomsbury, her associates, et cetera. This story was written for the amusement and entertainment of readers only. Thank you! - BatsInATeacup (S.L.J.)
> 
> Warning: This story contains themes of a sexual and violent nature, including blood drinking, bondage, implied and explicit underage sexual content, torture, murder, war violence, ritual sacrifice, et cetera. This is an LGBTQ friendly story. Homosexual content ahead. Squeamish or sensitive readers are advised to tread with caution. Or don't. We are not in control of your life. The author takes no blame for your inability to read the warning, or if readers ignore the warning.
> 
> A/N: I am given to understand that some of my more delicate readers do not appreciate the lack of warning on the Harry Potter/Other relationship. Concider this your warning, for it is, in my opinion, covered by the tag stating "Other Background Relationship(s) Of Various Degrees of Importance". Furthermore, it is considered rude, where I am from, to criticize someone without first offering praise. If my readers would prefer a more polite response to thier issues perhaps they should keep that in mind. Thank you for your time.
> 
> Lectură plăcută!

# Skeleton Kiss

**Written By Bats In A Teacup**

**Chapter One - Summer (Part One)**

** **

Harry James Potter stands safe in the shadows of the crowded train station, numbly watching some Order members talk to his relatives about his recent loss with a bitter taste in his mouth, hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles are snow white, and his nails bite into flesh deep enough to draw blood. He pays no mind to the blood dripping down his fingers to the cold, dirty ground, nor to the people as they pass by, completely unable to notice his presence, but looking wary as they walk by him, as though they can feel his cold rage and depression beyond his notice-me-not charm and invisibility cloak. It had been embarrassingly easy to slip away from his friends to hide here, nearly pathetically easy, but Harry isn't ready to face his relatives quite yet. In lieu of the circumstances, it is pathetic how hard it is for people to understand that.

Sirius is dead, taken from life far too soon, before Harry had much of a chance to know him, and it is all Harry's fault. He was the stupid child who fell for a trap, all because of a thrice acursed prophecy, all for the sordid little poem of a hack seer. He was the one who let Voldemort drag him out of the school, the vision he sent be damned. Harry is as much to blame. Harry acted like a foolish, pathetic, brash child, and he is the reason Bellatrix Lestrange was able to get her claws into his godfather. Now his godfather rests in peace behind a peice of terrifying mysterious magical drapery and Harry knows hate beyond all reason, a bone deep loathing more fierce than he has ever felt before. It sets a fire in his blood like lava, and he longs to let the whore who killed his godfather feel the full force of the pain and ire she has sown.

He has been given no time to grieve properly, no time to come to terms with it all, and now he is set to face the Dursleys, without the protection of having a supposed mass murdering psychopath for a godfather to shield him from the abuse he is likely to recieve, especially now that his lies have been unraveled by those who should be protecting him. He watches the Order members and the Dursleys stand, shifting impatiently as they wait for him, and Harry grimaces at the thought of leaving his comfortable hiding spot to deal with them. Honestly, he doesn't even want to go back, and he really doesn't think he should be forced to. He may be safe from Death Eaters, but he is certainly not safe from the abuse and neglect of his oh so loving relatives, and with Voldemort sharing his blood he doubts he is really safe from him either. He would probably be safer in Diagon Alley anyways. Or even Knockturn Alley considering it would be the very last place anyone would look for the golden champion of the light. In fact, Knockturn Alley is the perfect place to lay low for a couple months, for it is the perfect place to research, and because it is the most logical place to search for information on the dark artifact that is the Veil, and to see if there is a way to resurrect his godfather. Voldemort managed it with not much more help than the absymal traitorous wizard that is Peter Pettigrew, so logically Harry can probably do it too if he puts his mind to it.

Mind made up, Harry finally leaves his hiding spot, invisibility cloak over head, glad he shrunk his trunk to fit in his pocket before they got on the train, and sneaks past the Order members, entirely greatful that Moody is not among them. Were the grisled old Auror there, Harry would not have such an easy time escaping. He probably would not have managed it at all. Harry nearly laughs when he succeeds in his escape attempt. Outwardly he makes no sounds, aware of how dangerous his current endeavor is. He stays silent, invisible, and unnoticeable for the entire walk from King's Cross station to Charring Road, and only when he is in the Leaky Cauldron, hidden once more, does he remove his spells and cloak, before ducking into an empty stall in the loo to change out of the muggle clothes he changed into on the train. He dresses himself in his nearest set of plain black school robes, and pulls on his hooded winter cloak to hide his face. Though he gets plenty of frightened, suspicious, and wary glances, no one really pays much attention to him in the end as he makes his way to the much skeevier magical alley.

He hasn't spent much of the money he has taken from his vaults, he rarely does at school, and he has been saving up since his first year to get away from the Dursleys, so he has plenty of coin to rent a discreet, private room under no name, in a seedy little bed and breakfast in the back of the alley, for the summer holidays, and he still has plenty of change left over after he has done so. The room is dark, dirty, and honestly smells a bit like decay, but it is cheap, and it has a bed, a dresser, and a perch for Hedwig to be comfortable on when she gets back from the Weasley home, so Harry doesn't mind the rotton oder or dust overly much. The feeling of complete freedom is enough that he is hardly bothered by it at all. Harry takes his time setting up his room to his liking, using as little magic as possible, and then he sits down to decide what his first course of action should be.

He needs a wand. His beloved holly wand is fine for the rest of today, but by tonight it won't be, and he hardly fancies the idea of being unable to defend himself in such a dark place as Knockturn Alley. Because the students of Hogwarts are all heading home for summer, the ministry trace isn't registering the age of any caster, nor are they checking to see the location of the spell, whether they are supervised, or even what they are casting. All his wand will register is that he is not near muggles. He could cast the killing curse on some poor innocent passer by and get away with it. Unfortunately, by midnight tonight that will change. Harry learned that information in a book, and he can thank loud mouthed Draco Malfoy for the information about the locations of the library bookstore and wand shop in Knockturn Alley.

Honestly, if Harry didn't know any better, he would think the Malfoys were trying to advertise their darkness to the world long before Lucius Malfoy got captured that fateful night and thrown in Azkaban. Of course, with Malfoy's father in Azkaban, Harry has no doubt that he will join the other sixth year students next year with a dark mark adorning his pale left arm.

Harry locks his room, and he leaves to go do a bit of shopping before the day has settled down into night. His neighbor across the hall is just leaving as he is. Harry stares at him for a moment, because he is devastatingly handsome. He is a tall man with caramel tanned skin, strait waist length black hair, and bright blue eyes, dressed in a long sleeved black dress shirt unbuttoned to show his bare chest, and a pair of black slacks. He has a celtic knot tattoo on his chest. He very blatantly looks Harry up and down with a wink, startling Harry out of his own hypnotized staring. Harry flushes scarlet and hurries away to the sound of deep chuckles.

**~×~**

Halliwell's Wand Works is a dimly lit little place three shops down and across the street from Borgin and Burke's. Just like all of the alley, it is filthy, dark, and unwelcoming, but inside it thrums with magic so strong Harry can taste it on the air. Unlike Ollivander's there are no shelves of long boxes, just a large open space with a table, and shelves filled with wood samples and what he can only assume are core samples.

"Evenin'." A scratchy voice comes from behind Harry, who resolutely doesn't jump, and he turns to the door. There is a short, balding, old man sitting casually on a wooden chair near the dusty cracked window.

"Bit early to call it evening." Harry points out. "Are you Mr. Halliwell?"

"Bit late ta call it Aftanoon." The man retorts, standing with a scowl and the sound of cracking bones. "An' I certainly ain't Ms. Halliwell, tha's for damn sure. Suppose ya need a wand, then. 'Ow old are ya anyway?"

"Not quite sixteen yet." He answers truthfully.

The old man chuckles. "Well, ya ain't lyin'." He says. "Most try an' tell me they're proper adults. Seem ta think gettin' an illegal wand made for them requires them ta be s'venteen."

Harry shrugs nonchalantly. "Well, I'm not like most." He says.

"That ya ain't, Mr. Potter." Halliwell agrees. Harry doesn't panic, thinking on how easy it was for Ollivander to identify him years ago, and deciding that it must be a wand maker thing. "Right hand or left?"

"Right." He answers, and then holds out his hand for the man when waved to do so. Halliwell pricks his finger with a needle, and a drop of blood falls onto a piece of parchment on the table. "Ouch!" Harry exclaims, yanking his hand away. "What was that for?"

"I'm makin' ya a wand entirely keyed ta yer sp'cific magical signature." He explains calmly in a gruff voice. "I'm gonna need more than a drop later, but yer safe for now." Harry nods in understanding, and Halliwell continues, handing him a small black and silver hoop."Now, makin' a wand is a long process. I'm gonna need four days. That there is a trace blocker. Ya put it on yer wand and the trace won't regista if ya do magic. Put that on yer wand, and ya ain't leavin' this shop before I have ya fitted with a proper holster. Yer gonna break that wand of yers before ya finish school, and then where'll ya be."

Harry once more is silent, only nodding and obediently doing as asked. The ring is two big for the wand, more like a bracelet than a ring, and Harry almost opens his mouth to point that out, when it glows red, disconnects its ends and softens like thread, and snakes itself around the wand. In the end, there is a thin spiral of black and silver traveling from the tip of his wand to the handle. Harry grins and looks up, and Halliwell hands him a pretty crystal vial of blood red liquid that bubbles in the vial like champagne.

"What's this?" He asks.

"That right there is a sensitivity booster." He answers. "What yer gonna do is drink it, then close yer eyes. Then, without openin' them, yer gonna feel the magic all 'round ya, an' try an' call the wand pieces ya are most compatible with ta this here table. If ya can't do that, then ya'll have to walk an' grab them. Trus' me, ya'll know which bits are meant for ya."

Harry nods and tilts back the potion, noting the lack of any taste, and shuts his eyes as he was instructed. He knows when the potion starts working immediately, because suddenly he feels weightless, numb, and free from all cares. The wand pieces call to him like a siren song, and he basks in the feeling. There seems to be more than just two things calling, louder and sweeter than the others, and Harry calls them to the table with ease.

"Good." He hears through the fog. "Drink this."

Harry doesn't even ask what it is, just throws it back without question. Instantly the effects are gone, and he blinks, both unnerved and longing, the overpowering flavor of salt and spicy cinnamon candy on his tongue. "Wow." He exclaims.

"Tha's the worst part of a sensitivity boost." Halliwell tells him. "They're one of the most addictive potions ever created, only beat by the Chauser Draught, which boosts 'ow smart ya are at the cost of bein' dependent on it for eva'."

"Frightening." Harry shivers.

"Now, I'll have yer wand ready in four days time. Come 'round here at six at night or so, an' I will seal it to yer magic usin' yer blood." Halliwell says. "I need a bit of yer blood then, jus' thirty mililiters is all. Do ya wanna know what ya called ta ya now, or after I make it?"

"After." Harry decides, smiling.

Halliwell nods. "For that holster I promised, you want leather or dragon hide?"

"Dragon." Harry decides, remembering Sirius's drunken rant about the benefits of dragon hide.

"We have black, red, an' bronze in stock for a right hand dom'nated wizard, like yerself." Halliwell brings one of each out. The bronze is clearly Hungarian Horntail, the red is Chinese Firebolt, and the black is one he has never seen, and it has a purplish shine to the scales. "Each can hold two wands, an' they're all worn on the forearm for easy access. First slot is for yer dom'nate wand, second is for yer spare. When ya get yer new wand it goes in the first, but for now ya only have the one. I'd recommend switching places when ya head back to school."

"Black." Harry decides. He pays the wand maker the seven sickles for the holster, and the two galleons for the trace blocker, and slips it onto his wrist, his holly wand sliding easily into the first slot. "Thank you. I suppose I'll do the few things I wanted to do while I wait. Do you know of any good places to buy clothes, or a good disguise?"

"For clothes, try the shop four down from here, the one with a red door. Morran's Everyday Wear, I think it's called." He answers. "It's got a bit of everythin' in there, muggle and magical in style, an' it's cheaper than anywhere on Diagon, that's for certain. Disguises are a bit harder. You might try the tattoo an' piercin' place up by the undertakers an' the pub for some magical ink, or Mulpepper's apothicary for potions, but I don't know anywhere with a disguise as good as you'd want. Try that beauty store for makeup for that scar of yers. Some new clothes, an anti-tracker, an' a bit of cover-up might be all ya really need."

"Thank you, Mr. Halliwell." Harry smiles, and he turns to leave.

"Mr. Potter." Harry stops and turns to look st the old man. "Knockturn Alley is a dangerous place ta wander." He warns. "Ya be on your guard, kid. Lots of dangerous folk 'round these parts, not ta mention the vamps and weres."

Harry nods and leaves, not really paying much heed to those words. It's dark when he gets out, far darker than he had been expecting, so Harry hurries to the bed and breakfast. He orders some dinner for hinself, and heads upstairs. The man in the room across from his is leaning against the open door to his place. He waves at Harry, who blushes once more, and shuts his door before he can embarrass himself, heart thudding hummingbird fast in his chest. His face still feels hot long after he lays down to sleep.

**~×~**

Harry leaves early the next morning, before many of the others are up, after a light breakfast of orange juice, cherries, and a chocolate croissant that was so impossibly delicious that Harry declared he would marry the chef; who turned out to a very nice old woman instead of a house elf like he had expected, who laughed and told him he had the wrong genitals to please her, but snuck him another croissant free of charge for making her day.

He buys himself an entirely new wardrobe, in both muggle and magical styles, charmed to grow with him to fit perfectly for up to six years without wearing or tearing. Harry figures that spellwork is a necessity, considering he plans to buy some potions to finally fix all the damage living with the Dursleys did to him.

Harry isn't a vain person, not by a long shot. He is well aware of how frightfully unattractive years of malnutrition, abuse, and neglect have rendered him. Harry is astoundingly aware of his scars, and his concave stomach, and his sharp ribs and hipbones. He knows he isn't an attractive person under his clothes. Sirius, on the other hand, was astoundingly aware of his own looks, and Harry's too, always half-jokingly complaining about Harry's bad taste in clothes. They had talked about them both getting set up on a nutritional potion regime and going shopping after Sirius's innocence was proven. It is too late for his godfather, but not for Harry to honor their plans.

His whole new wardrobe consists of clothes he knows Sirius would have insisted he get, but at the same time they are things the shop girl said he'd look good in, and things he loved when trying them on, and he has to say he looks pretty damn good. After he has paid for it all, he changes into a set of new clothes, and spends a good ten minutes looking at himself, trying to admire himself with the same critical but kind eyes his godfather would have.

It isn't an easy task. His body image is crap, and his fashion sense is, as the shop girl repeatedly told him, simply pathetic. Sadly, unlike his beloved godfather, being attracted to guys has not magically given him the ability to be effortlessly fashionable. Stereotypes may be stereotypes for a reason, but Harry isn't even close to the fashionable gay stereotype. He wouldn't even bother with the clothes if it were not for his promise to his godfather, and the fact that they are ill fitting obviously muggle hand-me-downs which make him stand out like a sore thumb in Knockturn.

His new clothes are not just his way of trying to honor Sirius, though it is his main reason, and nor are they simply for his protection and blending in purposes. His new clothes are like a new skin, a way to shed off the last of the Dursleys influence on his life, to make way for a new and better Harry. His new clothes are a way to show he has changed, to prove he is better than the pathetic damsel in distress he has been living as. He wants the world to see him as a different stronger person, and he wants Sirius to be proud of him, and he wants his clothes to reflect that.

Eventually Harry decides that his godfather would have been satisfied, and he heads back to the bed and breakfast with his arms heavy with bags, planning on a second outing after lunch to get his potions and browse the library bookstore.

Now, as he walks through the dirty streets, people are staring at him, and it isn't because he is the boy-who-lived. It is flattering, albeit awkward, and it shows him the shop girl really did know what she was doing. Still, he is exceedingly grateful that the few pictures that exist of him are so unflattering and blurred, otherwise he thinks he might be mobbed for an entirely different reason. He can only imagine the field day the Daily Prophet would have if they found out he has been lurking about in Knockturn alley. Dumbledore would have an aneurysm. Luckily, Halliwell was right about the new clothes being a good enough disguise in and of themselves sometimes.

Harry heads back up the stairs to the third floor, and blinks when he comes face to face with his neighbor again, who is once again leaning up against his doorframe, wearing obscenely low trousers and no shirt at all, which is doing all kinds of things to Harry's teenage libido. "Still here then, pretty one?" The man asks.

Harry's face turns as red as Ron's hair, and he makes an embarrassing noise in the back of his throat. "Yes." He answers, trying to preserve what is left of his dignity. "I'll be here all summer." He continues, a bit less shaken than before.

"Good to know." His neighbor purrs sinfully. "I'm called Zael. What's your name darling?"

"Harry." He answers, as he unlocks his door. "It is very nice to meet you Zael."

"Harry." Zael says sweetly. "Lovely name sweetheart."

Harry thanks him and manages to keep the blush down. There is a beat of silence, and Harry is just about to turn around to go back inside, when the man speaks. "I like this new look." He says. "You were delectable in those school boy robes you were wearing yesterday, ugly clothes couldn't hide that fact, but now you are downright edible?" He says that last word in a salacious purr that has Harry's mouth dry instantaneously.

"Thanks." He smiles. "I just let the girl at Morran's pick everything out."

"Why don't you put your bags down and join me inside?"

For the smallest fraction of a moment where, despite all the signs and flirting, Harry honestly believes, in a far too innocent and naive way, that he is being offered a friendly invite to afternoon tea. However, this misconception only lasts a second or two, because there really is no way to misconstrue the lustful look Zael is giving him. Of course, once his brain catches up to the implications, Harry's face cycles through every shade of pink and red in the spectrum of human capabilities, and he stutters numbly as his brain tries to formulate a proper response.

Zael chuckles. He takes a few steps forward, trapping Harry against the door to his room, and bites his lip sensually, making Harry let out a half moaned gasp. "So innocent." He caresses Harry's cheek. "Do you have any idea what I want to do to you right now?"

Harry has a vague idea of what is likely to happen if he takes the man up on his offer and goes into his room. He isn't entirely unaware of how things work, that is the benefit of rooming with a bisexual sex fiend like Seamus Finnegan. He has seen enough wizard and muggle pornographic magazines to know what to expect with a woman or another man. He's seen enough to know he likes the idea of both. However, seeing and being aware are not the same as experiencing, and honestly the only experience he has is the disaster of a kiss with Cho Chang.

Harry thinks for a moment about his godfather, and what he would do. Sirius, probably more prone to thinking with his dick than anyone else Harry has met, would likely be the one encouraging him to go. It isn't like he has had any other offers. Well, that isn't entirely true. Cedric Diggory once propositioned him but he was too innocent then to realize it, but that was the only time before now that anyone has offered. He doesn't fancy dying a virgin, either, and with Voldemort now publicly terrorizing everyone now, that is looking like a distinct possibility.

"I guess I'll have to find out after I put my bags in my room." He says cheekily, a lot more confidently than he actually feels.

Zael makes a half pained half pleasured sound, but backs up to let Harry into his room to put his things down. Harry follows the man to the room across the hall from his, heart hammering a hummingbird beat on his ribcage, and Zael shuts the door behind them. Harry never does get around to finishing his shopping, or putting his new clothes away.

**~×~**

Two days later finds Harry Potter lying breathless and exhausted on a bed identical to the one in his own room, with hands tied over his head with black silk scarves, and his eyes blindfolded with the same kind of scarves. His skin is covered in bruises, bite marks, sweat, blood, ejaculation, and the remnants of chocolate, whipped cream, raspberries, and who the hell knows what else. He is lying in almost the same spot as he has been since Zael invited him in a couple days prior, having only left the bed for bathroom breaks and water. The aforementioned man curls cat like around Harry, making pleased sounds against Harry's throat, and drawing spiral designs in the spunk on his stomach.

Harry has no regrets.

Or at least none he can remember anyways. It kind of all starts to blur together somewhere after the fourth mind numbingly wonderful round. At this point, Harry is at the end of his physical capacity. He couldn't go anymore if he wanted to, and to be honest what Harry really wants right now, more than anything else, is food and sleep.

Don't get him wrong. The last two days have been extremely pleasurable. Beyond pleasurable even, absolutely phenomenal really, but he apparently doesn't have the stamina necessary to keep up with Zael. He should have figured that out as soon as Zael admitted to being an incubus, but Harry, being muggle raised and having no knowledge of any creatures beyond werewolves, hadn't thought about what such a thing might entail. Sadly, it seems humans are not capable of keeping up with Incubi, and Harry is feeling that now more than anything.

Harry's stomach growls, reminding him that he hasn't eaten anything beyond chocolate, whipped cream, and raspberries in two days. Zael huffs out a laugh against his throat, and then pulls away to undo the knots, letting Harry's arms down, and uncovering his eyes. Harry blinks and rubs his wrists, letting his eyes adjust as Zael starts kissing his way across Harry's collarbones.

Harry hums in pleasure despite himself, but his stomach makes it's discontent known and Zael pulls back. "Right." He says, more to himself than Harry. "I forget humans need to eat often. Do you want me to order up, or shall we shower and head down for something?"

"Shower." Harry answers. "I have to check to see if Hedwig, my owl, has gotten back anyways, and I would like to get a nap in and change clothes before I head out. I have a few things I have to do."

"Sounds good." Zael agrees.

With that, Harry swings his legs of the bed, and stands up, only to crumple like a marionette doll with broken strings. He might have hit the floor if Zael had not caught him.

"Sorry." He says. "I tend to get carried away."

Zael tips his head back, and kisses him, but as he does so Harry all if a sudden feels as energized as if he took several pepper up potions, as well as giddy and weightless, like floating on a cloud, as though he took a sensitivity booster again.

"Wow!" He breaths out. "What was that?"

"A Life Energy Transfer." Zael explains. "You can read more about it in books about sexual magic. Basically, when my kind feed, we don't just consume sexual and passionate energy, we also take life energy. It isn't as sinister as it sounds, I promise. You feel it when we do, it's what makes sleeping with an incubus or succubus so far beyond simply pleasurable. I gave you some of mine, but the life energy of a creature is far more potent than the life energy of a human, so your body and magic are getting used to it, hence the walking on air feeling you have right now."

Harry nods his understanding, and then the two head to the bathroom to take a shower together, with only a slight break for Harry to grab his towel and a change of clothes. Zael surprisingly keeps his hands to himself, for the most part, aside from helping Harry get his back. Harry can't tell whether to be disappointed or not. Still, under the hot, potion laced water, Harry's bruises and bite marks fade, and a green tea, sage, and minty aroma is left on his skin from the incubus's soap. Afterwards, they towel off with the fluffy towels the bed and breakfast supplies, dress themselves, and they head down for breakfast.

Harry is understandably famished, and he wolfs down his stack of blueberry pancakes and his pumpkin juice in probably a minute, while Zael chuckles at him and drinks tea. Incubi don't need to eat food, they get their energy from sexual energy. Zael pays for their meals, makes sure Harry is aware he wants another go if Harry decides he is amicable to the idea, and he leaves the bed and breakfast for his own business. Harry heads back to his own room for some much needed sleep.

Harry is asleep the second his head hits the pillow.


End file.
